


Mirage

by spaceromantic



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Blowjobs, Eventual Otapliroy, Eventual Otayuri, Jjbek, Otabek Altin Week, Otabek Altin Week 2017, Pliroy, Polyamorous Character, Road Trips, otayuri - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-23 03:19:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12497524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceromantic/pseuds/spaceromantic
Summary: Otabek Altin WeekDay 1 - Travel / BikerHelena breathes her last on the left shoulder of Nevada Highway 374.Otabek finds his road trip slightly derailed when he encounters trouble with his bike but a chance meeting with two others on the road makes his predicament a lot more interesting.





	Mirage

Helena breathes her last on the left shoulder of Nevada Highway 374.

It’s been approximately three hours since their departure from Vegas heading Northwest towards Death Valley. Three hours of sun, sweat and the occasional rest stop for a bite to eat, air conditioning and a look at the many tourist trap pamphlets offered in great numbers by every door. 

Trouble with Helena began as a minor inconvenience, a quiet sputter, hardly anything to raise the alarm about. When her sputter evolves into a wail Otabek knows it’s time to bring her to a stop, easing gingerly off the tarmac onto dust and gravel, kicking up loose rocks behind him as collateral. He looks to the fuel indicator, sees that gas isn’t the problem because she’s half full of it but when he restarts her engine following a brief check of her working parts he receives not one click of acknowledgement, only silence.

“Come on, baby,” he pleads. Nothing.

Helena, a custom Iron 883, isn’t the type of woman to be swayed by pet names. She’s cool, black powder coated and indifferent to his desperate pleas. She stands as a monument to a journey months in the making that will take them through Death Valley, the Mojave Desert and back around to Vegas where they began, an 800 mile trip altogether.  


He realizes he’s up shit creek without a paddle when he glances at his phone and sees the ‘No Signal’ prompt on the screen. On either side of him, as far as the eye can see, stretches an indefinite emptiness. There are no cars, no signs of life apart from the odd noises of unseen creatures. He feels small in the grand design of the desert like a single grain of sand amid the immeasurable amounts surrounding him.

Fuck, he’s so fucking screwed.

Dusk approaches, transforming the sky from clear blue to russet with painterly streaks of yellow and red. He sighs, weighing the idea of abandoning his inert partner to venture off in the direction from which he last came. He decides against it, leaning his weight on Helena's solid body as light begins to slip from the sky. She creaks quietly beneath him. 

Otabek cracks his knuckles, his neck. There's a litany of curses that follow beneath his breath, colorful phrases in his mother tongue mixed with American vernacular. He rubs restlessly at the hair cropped close to the base of his neck like he always does when his mood is shit. His brain wracks itself for a solution to his predicament until he remembers the emergency flares nestled in one of the two saddlebags near the rear of his bike.

Lighting the duo takes no time at all. He lays them a foot away from where he and Helena stand poised like statues. Twin sparks jump from the tips, trailing smoke that follows the direction of the wind.

Otabek stares mesmerized at the dancing balls of light. Wild shadows cast themselves on his face, forming weird shapes that shift at irregular intervals. For all he knows the flares could be useless but the effort made makes him feel less helpless and a little more proactive. He blinks, staring up at the cloudless horizon. 

❧

The truck appears like a mirage wavering in the heat. It's an old Model T Ford in a classic shade of cadmium red where the rust hasn't eaten at the paint. Black smoke trails from the exhaust precariously tied to the undercarriage with rope, the pipe bounces excitedly as if it were the tail of a dog greeting its master.

The idea of salvation makes hope flourish in the dark places where Otabek sometimes loses his thoughts. He straightens his posture, stepping away from his bike with an arm outstretched, signaling his need for assistance.

The driver, flashing their lights in acknowledgement, slows to a complete stop beside him. They roll down the window with the lack of smoothness an old hand crank provides, yellowed glass stuttering.

"Need a lift?" The face that stares back at him looks like the sort of guy who lives in a house with a white picket fence and a manicured lawn. He's got dark hair, light eyes. When Otabek catches a glimpse of his smile flashbacks of old Colgate commercials play in his head.

"Only if she can come along," he motions to his bike.

"We've got plenty of room in the bed of the truck, I don't see why not," his would be savior reasons.

We?

"Since when the fuck do we do charity work?” A third voice grouses.

Otabek draws his attention to the passenger seat. The first thing he notices are a pair burgundy Docs resting against the dust ridden dashboard from which stem a set of pale legs and slim thighs tucked into denim cut offs. The way they're sitting offers a peek at a faded band tee (Joy Division) and wisps of long blond hair that curl artfully at the ends. He cranes his neck hoping to see a face but the driver's broad build blocks it from his view.

"Yuri, chill out. We can't just leave him."

"Who says?" Yuri, Otabek quickly learns, has a mouth that doesn't hold anything back. When he hunches forward, unwittingly revealing himself, his sunglasses (round Lennon style frames with black lenses) slide down the bridge of his nose, showing off the green of his irises. He’s pretty in a way that some flowers have thorns, Otabek thinks, let your guard down and you’re liable to get pricked.

"No one is saying anything but if you leave me here and I end up a skeleton in the sand I make no promises that I wouldn't haunt either of you, especially you," Otabek's gaze lands on Yuri's face who's light brows raise in unison. It's a compelling argument and he knows it, the smile curving his lips is a sure declaration he’s won.  


Yuri, harrumphing in resignation, crosses his arms over his chest. "Just up until the next town and then you're on your own."

"Deal.” Otabek agrees. 

❧ 

The truck door whines in protest of being flung open. Half a head taller and broader in comparison Otabek steps back to give the driver some room. A hand is practically thrust in his face, he takes it, returning the firm handshake he’s given.

“The name’s JJ.” There’s a hint of black ink that peeks through from beneath his shirt sleeve that Otabek can’t make out.

"Otabek,” he says, “I take it the one still in the truck is Yuri?"

"Fuck off, biker shit!" Yuri calls out, flashing a double set of middle fingers held up high in the air.

JJ rolls his eyes, immune to the display. "If you're wondering if he's always like this the answer is almost always."

“I like things that have a little kick to them,” Otabek says without thought.

“Well, you’re in for a treat with this one then.” JJ snickers, clasping his hand against the back of Otabek’s shoulder, “How about we get to work hauling your old lady into the bed of the truck?”

“Sounds good to me.”

It takes fifteen minutes tops to settle Helena in place. By the time her pretty body is secured both Otabek and JJ are covered with a light sheen of sweat mixed with grime. Yuri passes the time ignoring the two of them, content in flipping through an outdated magazine from 2014 with headlines that read ‘10 Tips to Drive Your Man Wild’ and ‘Beauty Steals Under $20’.

Otabek peels off his leather jacket, it sticks to the exposed skin of his arms. He grimaces and drops it onto the truck bed. Dust covers his hands, he wipes them on his jeans. Then he takes the hem of his white t-shirt, pulls up and uses it to whisk beads of sweat from his brow.

A high pitched whistle catches his attention. JJ stares shamelessly at the exposed skin of his abdomen. There’s something about him that feels a little left of center but he breaks eye contact before Otabek can put a finger on what.

“Can I help you?” Otabek asks. There’s no underlying tone of malice in his voice. He says it to shake off the lingering feeling crawling around his insides. Says it to make sure JJ knows that he’s  
been caught.

“Maybe later,” JJ hums, “we’ve got places to be.”

They board the truck without another word. 

❧ 

It’s a tight squeeze.

Otabek sits at the left side of the cab, JJ at the right. Yuri, with all the indignation of a teenager caught up in something he never wanted to be a part of, sits wedged between them pissed.

The scenery slides along with no perceptible change. On the staticky radio Stevie Nicks sings the opening lines of Dreams. He hums along, rapping his fingers against the armrest built into the passenger side door. A sign that appears at his periphery says the closest town is seventy five miles away.

He hopes it’s the sort of place that has a workshop for his bike and a decent place for him to lay his head down at night. Oftentimes, the further he rode from the city the less modern things became.

Yuri squirms at his side, fighting a losing battle with sleep that ends with his head perched on JJ’s shoulder, his mouth hanging open wide enough to catch flies.

Otabek stares, takes the time to really study Yuri’s face gone from hellcat to slumbering kitten in a matter of minutes. His leather jacket sits draped over the blonde’s shoulders, stolen moments ago to ward off the cold; it's boxy and too big yet somehow he makes it work.

“What were you doing out in the middle of nowhere anyways?” JJ cuts through the silence, one hand gripping the steering wheel the other a prop for his chin. He looks bored, Otabek can’t blame him. Night driving in the desert isn’t exactly the most exciting thing in the world.

“Road trip,” Otabek says, “was headed to Death Valley when my bike gave out.”

“No kidding? We’re headed there too.” JJ perks up, his body rigid straight as if connected to a string suddenly pulled taut, "From one desert to another you'd think you'd seen it all but we heard it's beautiful over there, can't hurt to go."

A pothole sends Yuri from the shoulder of one man to the other. His upper body sways in a less than graceful arc until the side of his head connecting with Otabek’s shoulder puts him at a standstill. It’s a miracle he hasn’t woken up. Strands of blond hair topple forward forming a curtain in front of his face, some of it sticks to the gloss applied to his lips. Sticky bubblegum pink, Otabek can smell the artificial sweetness from where he sits.

"He's pretty, right?" JJ interrupts, "Prettiest thing in the entire state, maybe even the country." He switches hands on the steering wheel to sweep the hair away from Yuri's face.

Otabek raises a brow. He's not sure if he's being baited, not sure where this is all leading. He has half a mind to ask if they're together but the words don't find their way to his tongue fast enough.

❧

From the outside looking in desert towns all look the same: dust covered, burnt orange, twinkling specks of civilization lined up by the roadside. The dashboard clock reads 11:00PM, too late for any of the local businesses to be open that don't cater to travelers or restless night owls.

Otabek rubs the fatigue from his eyes, shoulder numb from the immovable weight of the sleeping passenger beside him. He rolls down his window, sticking his hand out to catch a feel of the cool, dry air that whizzes past his outstretched fingers.

"Think your bike's gonna have to wait until morning to get fixed," JJ says as he's turning into a motel parking lot, "so how about we drop sleeping beauty off in a room and head out for a drink?"

The little old lady who sits in her glass front cubicle doesn't say much when Otabek asks for a room with double beds and a key for each of them. She collects his money with the apathy of someone who's never left their sleepy hollow, dishing out three identical sets of keys with noisy plastic markers attached to them.

"Hurry up, my arms are starting to hurt." JJ remarks, shifting a still slumbering Yuri in his arms. Yuri's nonplussed, deep in the throes of what Otabek would regard at this point as a hibernation.

"Big, strapping guy like you?" Otabek says, "You could probably carry him for another hour."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." JJ snorts, "Lead the way."

Their room's a straight shot down a corridor with an ice machine marking the end of the line. He opens the door, flicks the light switch nearby and squints while the room goes from pitch black to golden yellow. The wallpaper's outdated, a paisley pattern from the 70s, to match the brown shag carpeting beneath his feet. It's no five star but the beds look inhabitable enough, the sheets turned down ready to welcome their guests.

On the bed closest to the door JJ pulls the blankets free from where they've been tucked beneath the mattress, unceremoniously dumping his living breathing cargo with the care of a tired businessman dropping his suitcase off by the front door.

"Mm," Yuri whines, eyes closed, blindly reaching for a fistful of duvet to yank over his shoulders, "s'rude to wake someone up."

"Lucky for you we're heading out," JJ says, "don't wait up, princess."

"I won't." Yuri answers before he's out again.

❧

The local watering hole is a nameless place with license plates covering every wall for decor. It's a smoke filled oasis for a few regulars and a passing motorcycle crew who shift their spilt second glances at the newcomers before it's back to business, voices a garbled tumble.

Otabek takes an open seat at the bar. Beside him JJ stands, leaning his forearm against the lacquered bar top, flagging down the busty redhead manning the counter.

"What's your poison?" Otabek asks.

"Whatever gets me drunk quickest." JJ grins.

A collection of shot glasses appears in front of the pair. Drink. Pick up the next in line. Drink more. Repeat.

JJ's face is flushed, he pulls at the collar of his shirt to cool his liquor warmed skin. Otabek's swimming but not gone, he feels good, a pleasant calm that leaves him smiling to himself.

"What's got you smiling?" JJ's breath is too close to his face, a syrupy warm gust that makes him wrinkle his nose.

"The general melancholy of life." Otabek says with the straightest face. He's joking, biting the tip of his tongue to keep from spilling out in peals of inebriated laughter.

"Fuck, you're funny!" JJ's in stitches, he grips his sides as if he were about to come apart at the seams.

There's a different kind of warmth that finds its way between them when Otabek feels the weight of JJ's palm against the back of his neck. It travels further than the pit of his stomach and he's sure JJ feels it too.

"So, about Yuri and yo—"

JJ cuts him off, "You wanna get out of here?"

Back into the din his question recedes, replaced instead with an ache he's come to know very well. Desire overruling apprehension. Otabek never said he was a good guy.

"Yes."

❧

The side of the building is cast with enough shadow to keep the two conspirators hidden. When Otabek gives a firm push and JJ collides with the wall the back of his head makes a dull sound but the pain doesn't register.

There are no words. No protests. Nothing to serve as a preamble to their first kiss. It's a sour sweet mess of tongues and stilted breaths. Otabek's hands find JJ's waist, settling where it tapers, his fingers press down hard sending signals to this brain that this is happening, really happening.

JJ groans, sets his palm flush to Otabek's chest right above the breakneck pacing of his heart, he gives a weak push but he doesn't budge. He raises his other hand, slipping his fingers into the jet black current of Otabek's hair and pulls.

"Fuck," Otabek exhales, "fuck that's nice."

"Yeah?" JJ laughs, they're kissing again, "I can make you feel even better."

Mock skeptically, "Promise?"

"Promise."

There's something so fucking good about seeing another man on his knees, even better when it's because he's sucking your cock. Otabek finds himself backed into the very corner JJ'd been in, one hand at the base of his prick the other at the back of JJ's skull.

JJ's got his cock out too, fisting it between eager fingers. Rolling his hips to the rhythm of a song playing only in his head. Spit dribbles from the corners of his mouth, pulled taut around the girth of Otabek's shaft, slipping down his chin onto the dirt below.

"Fuck, just like that baby." Otabek croons, thrusting up into the white hot channel JJ's throat forms surrounding his cock.

They move in tandem, messy, fast. Loose with liquor, loose with lips. A chorus of rustling clothing, the slap of skin and the occasional moan littered with praise until there's nothing left.

Otabek bottoms out right when JJ finds his release. He gives a final thrust, spilling freely. He watches JJ swallow it all without a single complaint.

Blown out and drunk they scramble to put themselves back in their places. JJ wipes his cum stained hand against the orange stucco behind Otabek's head.

"Natural graffiti," he says.

❧

It takes four tries for JJ to get his key into the lock, three tries for Otabek to toe off his boots, the two of them to resist laying in the same bed.

Only one of them notices the smirk from Yuri's supposedly sleeping figure. JJ waits until Otabek's out cold to do anything, slipping closer to the blond on the mattress with a satiated expression.

"You awake?" He knows the answer is yes.

"Ever since you dumbasses couldn't figure out the door.” Yuri scoffs, “How many undercuts does it take to work a room key?”

JJ snickers, "Could've helped us out, you know." He trails his fingers down the side of Yuri's thigh, leans in for an open mouthed kiss.

Yuri, making a face, "You taste like him."

"Yeah? Maybe tomorrow you can have a piece of him too, I think he likes you."

"Maybe," Yuri says, hopeful, "Jean?"

"Hm?"

"I like it when we find new things to play with."

“Me too, princess.”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me at @spaceromantic on twitter if you're interested in keeping updated on when I post new works! I don’t bite!  
> Forewarning, I am an incredibly slow writer; I appreciate the patience in advance!


End file.
